to be roused from slumber
by Aiko Isari
Summary: Chrom is eleven years old when he meets the new boy-who-lived, scarred and solemn and with eyes older than the grounds they walked upon. Eventual Chrobin, sporadic updates.
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: Child abuse, past death, violence, experimentation, non binary characters_

* * *

Year 1

Part One: Blood is Blood

Chrom Ylisse has known his place since he was born and he relishes in it, It suits him, he thinks, to a point. His place is with his sisters, right square in the middle with a weapon in hand. Maybe it would Godric's sword, or the falchion passed from generation to generation as was bid. Either way, he is a _warrior_ , and that, in all its certainty, carries him as much as his name.

The only problem this leaves him with, however, is his lack of magic.

Well, not lack. He has it, his mother would have been displeased if he didn't. But wands dislike him. The wards on the house tinkle at him and he's sure that is bad. His accidental magic was small, almost forgettable.

He had wandered their grand halls for years at a young age, pretending he's not crying because the fear of being a Squib and helpless in their world is foul. Even if he can fit into the Muggle world (which he doubts, considering his family has been pure of blood for generations), he still won't have counters to anything else.

That, of course, was the day that he saw Lissa, still young enough to not have been ensnared by everything ladylike that had taken Emmeryn, fall from a tree. And before Fredrick even could turn he had flown across the halls to the courtyard and saved her.

She had laughed off her fear later, of course, and Chrom had clung to her for hours. Until he'd been reminded that it was his magic.

Then he had cried and was not ashamed of it. He had been too young to feel shame.

His father had been alive to quell it.

But that doesn't matter now.

Now, he is eleven. Now he is marching off to Hogwarts, as the first Exalt had during the time of the founders when the first had called to one of the old gods left in the land to battle another. His falchion is in his trunk, towards the bottom where the featherlight charm is the strongest so no one, not even the elves, can sense it and take it away. It is his and will come when called anyway.

So there.

He pushes his trunk closed and snaps each bit until it sits smooth and still. Chrom brushes cobalt bangs out of his eyes, regretting his refusal to go to the barber now. But he will bear it.

"You can't wear one sleeve anymore."

Chrom grunts and flicks something at Lissa's face. It's supposed to sound deep, adult, but he's still young enough that it comes out higher than it should.

Not that she notices, dodging the chocolate wrapper with a squeak of annoyance. "Seriously?"

He grins at her and sweeps over. When he next looks back, his trunk is gone and Lissa is darting from him, squealing in dismay. Seven years old and still trying so hard to be good, to be great.

Trying to be the adult.

Chrom, as always, pushes the concept away. His sister's still a _baby_. She doesn't need to do anything adult. They don't need to do anything big and scary and dangerous outright.

Especially not her.

To prove it, he chases her down the great halls of Ylisse Manor, their shoes loudly clapping on the floors and into the dirt. She makes it to her favorite tree – the tree she fell from of course – and Chrom grabs her by the waist, fingers dancing over the thinnest part of her soft yellow dress. She spins, grabs hold, and then they tumble, her pigtails bouncing unfurled from the ties as she reaches for his vulnerable armpit and succeeds just long enough that her weight hurts on his stomach.

Then Frederick, bless him, picks the pair of them up with a single hand each like the bodybuilder (Chrom loves Muggle words and for some reason saying that one makes Frederick flush and Emmeryn won't quite tell him why.) he is and the young man sets them gently on the ground on both feet.

"Breakfast is ready," he informs them, lips quirking steadily upward.

Chrom feigns anger at the interruption, his ribs are grateful instead as he shuffles along down the suddenly longer marble. Lissa skips beside him. She's singing something, a Muggle song he figures because of all of the Ylisse family, she can blend in the best.

Emmeryn is already there to eat, head girl's badge gleaming and bright in the lights. She beams at them in her soft, controlled way and looks back at her book. The food arrives as the two of them slip into their cushioned chairs. Frederick follows last, as always, shutting the door behind them. He stands stiffly at attention for moments, watching the plates divvy themselves up with the same wonder he tries to tamp down so hard and bury.

Chrom, as always, wonders why.

He never asks because that is a rude thing to do.

But eventually, the older man, practically a brother, sits down in his own chair and joins them.

"Everything is prepared," he tells them, eyebrows writ stern. Preparations have been made for Lissa with the Weasleys-"

"I can be here by myself, you know," Said Lissa interrupts over her food, glowering at him without much heat.

Frederick raises an eyebrow and ignores her. They've had the argument so many times it's not worth repeating. "Auror Potter will be here within the next hour. He has to take his children in separately as well. So we will need to be ready in the next hour."

Emmeryn pats her lips, green hair carefully out of danger as always. She looks ready for anything and even at eleven Chrom wishes-

 _If only I could be that perfect, that composed, that kind…_

-he was as good as her, as prepared and composed. As forgiving.

He's not though. He can only be himself.

Chrom pushes the thoughts away again and focuses on his toast, marmalade, and the last of the lamb. When she talks, he smiles and answers and the bundle of nerves that had been in his chest since his first sparks of magic throbs with anxiety.

* * *

Harry Potter is not what people expect him to be, even almost two decades later.

He is not rippling muscle and towering height. Rita Skeeter had gotten out one last book and revealed many of his secrets. Secrets like a cupboard under the stairs and bodily harm, like words called _freak_ and having the wrong prescription for his glasses for so long it'd needed correction. He is close to Frederick in height and he has some meat on his bones, but it's not enough. His faded scar is still pale white and standout against dark skin and Indian features, his father's features.

The eyes are green as the killing curse that killed him twice, Chrom sees that last of all every time.

 _It must hurt to see that color now that he knows what it is,_ he thinks. His tact keeps him from saying it and instead he merely dips his head with all the manners he has.

"Don't do that," Potter grumbles when he lifts his head. "Makes me feel like a lord or something."

Chrom laughs. "But you're like one!"

Potter is an old and familiar friend. He has done everything he can for them, everything and more. Chrom vaguely knows why, but still.

"Not as much as you," the man teases and in that mischief filled smile, Auror Potter is now just _Uncle Harry._ "Your blood goes back generations."

"Doesn't matter," Chrom juts his lips into a pouting frown. "Blood is blood but people are people."

Uncle smiles in that soft way that's full of pride. "You have been listening."

"Of course!" Chrom lifts his head high. "I've had years to hear of it."

Harry laughs. Not at him, Chrom hopes, but at the seriousness there. "Could be worse things to hear about. The peace and equality of all people isn't so bad to hear about."

"It's not so bad," Chrom echoes as his sister rushes into the room with Frederick shadowing her every step. He frowns. "Where's Lissa?"

"Last minute packing additions," Frederick responds promptly and then turns to Uncle Harry. His stern expression seems no different from usual, but the switch from Uncle to Auror is very telling. "Something has… come up."

Emmeryn beckons her brother and Chrom goes to her as the two men talk. Despite being barely out of school, Frederick's rigidity feels right in hand with the serenity that comes from the Head Auror he works for.

"Do you remember reading about the Fell Dragon?"

Chrom's eyes _sparkle_ and his hands ball up into fists. He has always loved dragons, even though they were savage and wild and _mean_. Some were supposed to be smart. Like Naga the Divine, who accepted their prayers and answered with life the next sunrise.

But the Fell Dragon is pure evil, they say, and his worshippers like the Death Eaters, the Knights of Walpurgis. He is death itself, the cold rattle in the cradle of the earth. A thousand or more years ago, their ancestor had sealed him away, binding their strength to the founders of a great school and the Fire Emblem.

And ten years ago, he had broken free.

Over a year of bloody war (he'd been only a toddler at the time, and he still knows none of it) later and he had been stopped, somehow. Sealed or dead, it was hard to say. No one quite knew how it had been done, but Father had done it and mother had helped.

Father had died at it, whatever he had done. He had died a hero and also a violent monster, for some reason. Perhaps it's because that's what aurors are and do.

Chrom nods, eager for more, for any scrap of curiosity to be sated. "Yeah! What about him?"

Emmeryn smiles timidly at the edges. "We believe his Survivor has chosen Hogwarts."

The words take a moment to sink in.

A single child had survived the final battle. Older than Uncle Harry had survived Voldemort, but still young and therefore heavily burdened and vulnerable, would be a target from the second he was recognized. He would probably be lonely.

"I understand," Chrom tells her, blue eyes gleaming with joy. "I will look after them to the best of my ability."

A formal speech, but it's the truth and it soothes the creases on his sister's face. She hugs him tight, with so much pride.

Chrom isn't sure if he deserves it, but it makes him happy to have it. So he has it.

* * *

Mother's coat is too big, of course, too heavy with all the protection layered on it, but being that it's all he has of her, Robin doesn't care. It has its uses.

 _The cow didn't, there's the pity._

Robin bites the inside of his cheek and the voice laughs particularly hard. It sounds like crying, though.

Grima cries often. Like a small child.

Grima is a small child with death in its coiling skin and they know it. They hate it. They hate humans with the same intensity that Robin hates one person. One awful person.

Well, two. If Stephen Ylisse were still alive, he'd consider hating them. But then, they'd had no idea. People never had any idea if they didn't read far back enough and people never did.

He shivers in the chill of the room but doesn't light the fire. He will be summoned soon so there's no point in doing so.

Thin limbs dangle over the small bed. He's always been thin, no matter who he feels like that day, he's always been thin and small and helpless and-

Robin shudders harder than necessary as the small wooden door opens. Big dark eyes pierce the gloom of the glorified broom closet and Robin makes herself open her hands.

"Mor-Mor," he says, deep voice cracking in the now bare room. Not that it'd had much to start with. No moving posters, plenty of books, dagger after dagger, strange objects that skirted between toy and elaborate paperweight. "Is grandfather calling?"

Morgan, bless them, has learned to walk fast enough on stubby legs without aid. They peer out from their own curtain of soft blue and reach her legs. "Mum-day!" they say in reply.

"It is," Robin agrees because this child always knows.

 _Made from us, part of us, ours and no one else's._

Robin agrees in silence. Morgan is a _baby_. Morgan is small and helpless and sweet and everything Robin themselves is not no matter what they feel like on the inside, it's never enough. Grima understands the importance of this and despite their enraged outburst over how and why and who had caused them, they agree that Morgan is beautiful and must be kept so.

 _We're in alignment so much more lately._

Robin ignores this too and picks up their child, who seeks to be like them, already questioning and batting away the ideals the world wants. "Is grandfather calling?" he repeats because they hope not because Father never touches Morgan. Barely acknowledges them. And it will stay as such.

"Huh-uh." Morgan spits on the floor.

Robin laughs and hugs them tight.

 _Not good enough but sorry._

The door doesn't swing shut. "It's time." Aversa never announces herself, but no one announces themselves to Robin that actually lives here. "Come on, before Henry wets himself."

Morgan giggles again and Robin dips his head and obeys.

It is better than being made to, again.

The scars, curved like smiles, ache on his cheeks and forehead and skin.

"Mum-day," Morgan tells Aversa. Robin watches her shrug.

"Concealer then?" The older woman has always been beautiful to everyone who serves them. She used to use her beauty once, but in the past year, that had changed. Robin wants to ask, wants to comfort her without hesitation, but it seems wrong. Like someone will hear.

Like a certain beetle.

Robin thinks on the question and shakes his head. "Everyone will know eventually. Into the breach as it were." Because he was going to get stared at anyway for not wearing the right uniform no matter what, for refusing to respond some days, for having Morgan despite being _so young._

 _You didn't birth them. Who cares?_

 _They will. Blood Magic is still connected to blood._

 _Humans are as stupid as always._

Robin says nothing, trembles again. He grips Morgan tighter to his chest.

"Where's Father?" he says instead. "Will he see us off?"

"Already gone to work," Alversa replies. "Henry… may have rewritten his schedule to make him think he was late."

Robin makes a face and schools it back. "I see..."

"It's his first year too." Alversa doesn't touch him directly, merely adjusts his hood. "He's a little excited. It's better than the crows."

Robin doesn't disagree. He merely braces himself for the hug he doesn't want to feel and the excited love he gets for nothing.

It hurts, of course, but the pain is most welcome now. He doesn't know about the other side of the coin quite as well.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express is beautiful and red in the gleam of the sunlight. Autumn is fresh and new and full of wonder and it hasn't even officially started yet. Chrom holds a wiggling Lissa against him alongside his trunk as they move free of the barrier alongside Harry Potter. The crowd still parts and whispers for him.

"Next Minister coming through I bet."

"Are those the Ylisse?"

"Oh, gods they are beautiful. It is such a shame-"

Harry clears his throat and the three siblings pause in what must be awkward unison. He makes a motion with his head. Chrom turns away from the onlookers and whispering. He knows exactly what they're going to say and doesn't want it. They can keep their pity.

His jaw drops as he looks towards the train again and it doesn't mean to. But it does.

There is a small figure with white hair wheeling a carriage awkwardly with both hands. A small child sits upon it, likely no older than three. There's another white-haired boy tagging after a taller, pretty girl as she scans compartments.

They're leaving the two of them to struggle on their own.

Chrom, without hesitation, sets his sister down and goes to help.

It's a good thing he does because then the poor guy trips. The too-big gloves come loose as they fall.

Chrom feels his magic tingle and he's caught the other before he's actually thought about it. Hazel eyes, wide with confusion, stare up at him and there's a sick, weird throb in his chest.

"You okay?" he says, hearing his voice stay smooth and not doing too great at it. "That's pretty heavy, huh?"

He watches the other wet their lips and struggle to find words. "I have a lot of books," they reply in a soft, warm voice. "But thank you. You are very kind."

Chrom doubts it but doesn't say so, merely helps him back up and in doing so, comes face to face with a pair of large eyes and a small nose and a mouth shaped in an O.

"You!" shouts the child and Chrom jumps. _The lungs._

Almost as loud as Lissa.

The boy turns away and pulls the child close, murmuring things in a language old and far away. It's the language Emmeryn does her drafts in so teachers can't correct her spelling.

This is a Plegian child.

An old rival family, devoted to the darkest arts imaginable. They were fierce and determined and stubborn with pride and ambition. Slytherin after Slytherin and devoted to the faith of Grima. The ones that weren't like that were stubbornly powerful in their own right. Fredrick had often complained about every single one.

And right now, the longer he looks at this boy, the less Chrom cares.

"Thank you, again," the other says. The scars on his face stretch as a faint smile twitches their lips. "My name is Robin. This is Morgan. Is this your first year too?"

"It is." Chrom doesn't know where the confidence comes from but it's warming his whole body. "I'm Chrom."

There's a pause as the boy shuffles his hand free, still without gloves, and hefts the child to one side. "Nice to meet you Chrom."

Despite everything, the pale looking palm is warm. And on it are Grima's six eyes, burnt red on his upraised skin.

"Nice to meet you too," Chrom says without stuttering and the strength with which he means it is almost sickening.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** _Did somebody say _childhood friends! AU_? Cause I don't write these enough and they're quite a bit of fun. Combined with Hogwarts! AU, we're just asking for it, honestly. Anyway, please read and review, it really helps me out! See you next chapter!

Challenges: Epic Masterclass FEA 6, Diversity Writing M20.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two: Trains and Ties

Much to Chrom's annoyance, the two of them are separated quickly by all of the adults in his life and possibly the older ones in Robin's. Potter looks mostly amused, lips quirked and eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Fredrick, Lissa under an arm, looks like he swallowed a lemon. The other boy looks practically like a twin to Robin, barring the extra centimeters of height and the clown smile. He hefts Robin up to his feet properly and gets a displeased scowl for his trouble. He only beams all the more. Then the boy turns to Chrom. He steps between Chrom and Robin deliberately, eyes glinting beneath the lids.

Chrom pretends it's not really weird for a kid his own age to do that and instead smiles at him. "Hi!"

Because that's what good, polite people do.

And to his surprise, the other holds out his hand. "Hi, I'm Henry, and that's my cousin you're manhandling over there." He giggles for some reason.

Robin groans. "Hen-"

Henry giggles again. "Yes, my dear other half is making friends without me! Not fair, Roro, not fair."

"I'm sure you can screen them just fine from behind me." There's amusement now, loud and clear and it's nice to hear.

"I'd rather not, thanks!" Henry's eyes flicker towards Emm, who has at this point rested her hand on Chrom's shoulder. It's soothing but he's not a baby he can talk to people. "We're in front of _royalty._ As well, cawesome as that is-" Robin groans and the woman behind them who had been eyeing Frederick like a sack of meat does the same. "I'd rather not have you tempt the wrath of her with your dashing good looks and friendly disposition."

Morgan makes a cawing sound from their spot and Lissa immediately reaches for them with eager swipes. _Finally_. Someone smaller than her.

Emm, just Emm, not the future Exalt of the Ylisse family (just one more year until she's out of reach forever and has to be so perfect and good it's inhuman like she isn't already), raises her hand to cover up her giggling. "I'm afraid I'm not _quite_ so praiseworthy yet."

"We must prepare ourselves for the inevitable," the other woman says, holding back a sneer. "Come on now, we've found a good compartment." She eyes them all once more and Chrom suddenly wonders if he needs to duck. "Thank you, once again, Ylisse boy."

There's something so formal about the whole thing, so binding that Chrom wants to ask about it. Instead, however, Robin catches him with a disarming smile, scarred cheeks contorting a little. "See you later."

And they're gone, grouped around each other like wolves in a den.

"Those were the Plegia, then," Emm says. She straightens a little and looks at Chrom fully, green meeting blue. "Are you all right?"

 _I think I'm in love._ Chrom doesn't say this, because it's undoubtedly mushy and nobody will believe him. (He's not even sure it's true.) Instead, he grins, flexes one arm like the muscle there is more pronounced. "Course!"

His sister smiles like a mother would, and hugs him close. Without hesitation, he hugs her back.

For a second, he sees the woman hand the child to Robin from up on the door. Then Lissa obscures his vision with her dress and Frederick's stiff but encouraging arm. His chest swells with gratitude and love.

And grief, so much grief.

* * *

Robin follows Henry down the unmoving train, Morgan babbling sweetly against his neck about the people they had seen, the Ylisse family, and all the things they were saying and doing that the child could see. He nods along to them. He smiles for them.

"You liked them, didn't you?" he says. They nod eagerly. "You want me to braid your hair so you can show them?"

"Yap!" Their hands flap a little like wings against his chest.

His heart hurts, so much.

 _Happiness is like a candle flame~_

 _Don't be poetic._

Henry opens the door of the compartment and Robin's vision is immediately awash with green and tinkling sounds. Morgan squeaks at the sudden tight space but Robin doesn't stop the ensuing hug. He knows who it is and it makes him smile a real smile.

"Tiki," he says, voice warming like coals over a stoked fire.

Tiki smiles into his throat. "Yep. Welcome home."

"We haven't even arrived yet."

She giggles and pulls away, peering at Morgan now. "Hi again, sweetie!" When Morgan reaches out, Robin lets them go, eagerly, to the girl.

Tiki adores Morgan, knowing everything, possibly more than Robin does, about them. Tiki adores Robin too, but that may just be because they both live in defiance of what is and could be and what the elderly think is necessary.

Whatever the reasoning may be, they are friends, and by the gods, that is enough.

"Love me too, Tiki~" Henry chirrups and without hesitation, Tiki throws an arm around him too, and they're pulled inside with soft peals of laughter. Robin, hands-free, slides the compartment door closed and draws the curtains halfway.

They settle in for a few minutes and Henry, draping himself over Robin's legs, declares, "We met your fam-fam, Tiki."

"Really?" Tiki brushes her pink cloak down. "I've never met them but I suppose that would be inevitable, wouldn't it?"

"Lady Naga has always been a weary sort," Robin says to be polite and keep another pun from escaping Henry. Which was the polite way to put it really. Lady Naga, who had forged the Falchion, had always been leery of the humans she observed. The fact that Tiki was, over a thousand years after its inception, finally allowed to go to the school of the ancestors, was strange in and of itself.

Robin, that said, didn't want to push it. His friend was allowed outside, allowed to be around others without too much supervision. He didn't want to risk Naga's change of heart.

So he didn't. He settles beside them all as Tiki tells them of the latest place she had explored, the Highlands where the trees grew vast and deep. Morgan sucks their thumb.

Soon, the train begins to roll away.

"Slytherin," Tiki says immediately, looking at Robin with pride. "You love playing with stereotypes, and what's better than a Slytherpuff alliance?"

Robin laughs. "And what makes you so sure that you won't be in Slytherin?"

Tiki smiles a little more, leaning on him. "Everything," she says as Henry fishes out a new book. "Much as it would be nice to follow in Mar-Mar's footsteps, he'd probably be cross at me for making such a so-called important decision based on that alone."

"She's thinking hard," Robin says to Morgan, who lets out a tiny sound as if agreeing. Robin smooths down their hair. _They'll perk up soon,_ he thinks, glancing at the two of them. Morgan's always been a sturdy child.

Tiki sweeps into a minor bow. "Of course! I have a reputation to uphold." She turns to Henry, eyes sparkling with some mirth. "Ravenclaw," she says with a proud nod.

Henry perks, perpetually smiling eyes softening at the edges. "You betcha! I intend to cawse all kinds of problems."

Robin rolls his eyes and Tiki laughs, clapping her hands. "I can't wait to see it, even if Ravenclaw has eagles." Morgan mimics her, earning more snickers about the compartment.

The trees and plains roll by and Robin feels his heart hurt from watching. _A farmer boy's life would be long and laborious, but ultimately nature is the one with the dice. Not people. Sounds nice._

And morbid. No need to think of that. Grima scoffs at him in boredom. Robin brushes his coat and joins in the conversation with his friends.

Or at least, until the sweets trolley rolls by. Tiki has tried very little of it, so Robin watches her pounce on a Chocolate Frog with a familiar, nostalgic enthusiasm.

 _Not really, not as good._

It's true but they shouldn't say it.

If Hogwarts was like this, he would have some optimism.

Henry opens his mouth to spit out a green bean, sprouts probably, you could never sweeten sprouts, when there is a loud clatter outside their compartment, followed by a flash of dark blue hair.

All of them move, Robin, bringing Morgan close to his leg. They peep with enthusiasm at first but at the second rattling, their eyes narrow and they start to tremble. Robin glances at Tiki, who is already moving towards the door.

She opens it so fast it should have broken the glass. "Is everything all right out here?" For a moment, Robin does not hear Tiki, his soft, good friend who is afraid of catching butterflies and breaking their wings, but the familiar Voice of the Divine Dragon.

Without thinking, he places his hand over hers.

* * *

In Chrom's defense, he hadn't meant to cause Hogwarts Express anarchy. He hadn't intended to go into this causing problems.

However, James Sirius Potter was a, pardon his language, jackass, so Chrom could be forgiven for not taking his shit. (He learned that word from a house elf!)

Everything had started all fine and neato. Albus, a fellow first year, had stuck to him like glue, after nervously babbling at his own parents and family, the Potters (and he'd heard all of that fun stuff about how they were the other side of the coin to them, no parents where they had them, three siblings and so much love in a war that has never ended.) whatever fears he had, like Houses and loneliness and unity. Chrom wonders how that can be something to fear. It shapes your life for the next seven years, yes, and possibly beyond but it doesn't mean it's all bad, just that it's a change. But Albus is afraid of it, with a famous father and mother and a brother with a reputation and many many other things, his life is so weird and heavy.

So Chrom, being raised by a good family, sits with him and Rose Weasley in the compartment. She shoots him disgruntled looks and he never knows why. They don't get along, usually because his sister is his responsibility and he does it, unlike Rose with her brother. Maybe it's just because he's another boy and she feels outnumbered. Maybe it's because of the other boy in the room, Scorpius Malfoy and they're just in too close proximity.

It's not like anyone doesn't know who the Malfoys were and what they used to support. But it's not like he's his father who decimated most of a population of people for Dark Magic and it's not like Rose is her mother who has made sweeping Ministry strides and thought of nothing but bettering the world now that she was old enough but did it rude and wrong.

Scorpius shrinks in his seat the longer she looks and Chrom clears his throat, watching Albus watch them. "Okay, uh… is this really necessary?"

Albus blinks, fiddling with his neat shirt and his bag and watching Scorpius and Rose again. "What?"

Chrom waves his hands. "This. You all… twitching like this. Like we're gonna break some laws if we all hang out. It's Hogwarts, a giant school. We're in the same year and going to share classes. Wouldn't it be easier if we at least got along a little?"

Rose mutters something and Scorpius winces. Chrom squares his shoulders. He's not smart but he can debate with the best of them because if he can't cut people physically, there are many many other ways. "What, cause he's the son of an ex-death eater? Cause he's got some Slytherins in the family? Your mom always told me that was a load of unicorn dung… Not in those words," he amends at the sight of her narrowed stare.

Finally, she deflates, guilt flashing on her face so much like Sully when she got caught ripping her pants into shorts. (where is Sully anyway?) "You're right," she says slowly, measuring out each word. "I just… you've heard dad, you know… you think he's joking?"

"But you wonder," Albus mumbles half-heartedly, looking at his hands. "What if it's as bad as you think? What if we're all right and..." Chrom watched him screw up his face, features twisting like a swallowed lemon. Then he rose to his feet, strode to Scorpius, and held out his hand. "I'm Albus Potter, you're Scorpius Malfoy. Let's be friends."

It is one of those ineloquent statements that only could work coming out of a kid's mouth, but the idea of laughing at it dies in Chrom's throat at the sight of Scorpius' smile. And it's nice, really it is. He and Rose introduce themselves and for a while, Chrom is able to forget about the scarred up boy and the child in his lap and just focus on normal things.

Then, enter James Sirius Potter, who is both of his namesakes in _spades_.

Chrom isn't too fond of his family name's fame, but it does have a duty attached to it, a requirement to stand for what people think is right and good, for what needs to be done, rather than what is easy to do and get away with. James Sirius Potter, two years his senior, seems to think being a Potter means the world will turn your way and damn the things that disagree with it. And it's always been that way.

Chrom remembers being five and missing his father and watching James Potter tackle his own into a chair before his eyes, heedless of the fact that he'd been supposedly sleeping minutes before and that Chrom himself was still on the couch. He remembers James waving newspaper clippings at Emmeryn, remembers his high ten-year-old voice telling her that negotiating was for cowards and Slytherins and while not really knowing what it meant, still making his strong sister's breath hitch a little.

To be fair, he also remembers Sully kicking him in the butt and not so accidentally turning all of his hair into flowers. Gods, that was funny even now.

"What's going on little bro, cuz, blueberry?" His voice sounds as interested as Chrom feels and the drawl of it makes Chrom _twitch_ for Falchion. And he knows that's bad, he's used it before and gotten in trouble when the noble adults tried to teach him hunting so he knows not to use it on people or animals (he's too young and that's bad, he knows, plus they're not at war anyway) but he wants to bash James' head with the bottom of the hilt and watch him fall back into a compartment door.

"Making friends," Albus replies, voice taking on that edge that sounds so much like Mrs. Weasley (Ginny, Mrs. Weasley is my mum kiddo, he hears in his head.) "What are you doing aside from being a wart?"

James laughs and Fred and Roxanne roll their eyes in that good-natured way of theirs that means there are no targets yet. But Chrom is prepared. "Just about to change. If I have to hear Victoire fuss us out of it one more year, I'm going to scream."

"Well you won't seeing as she's graduating," Rose replies, voice tart. "It'll be your one year of responsibility then off you go."

Chrom snorts. Victoire was one of his sister's best friends ever, and thus, he liked her, but she was also the teeniest bit of a mother hen. They all admittedly needed it but still, he'd never say that out loud.

James rolls his eyes at her, fully prepared to let it be for the moment (probably to go back to teasing Albus over not being a Gryffindor) but then the snigger Scorpius had been trying to restrain behind a polite hand burst out into a guffaw.

James' head turns, almost cracking, eyes narrow, mouth thin. Hates to be mocked, because Lissa once had covered his sweater in sick up and Chrom had made her face his way on purpose and he'd never really let it go.

Something in his shoulders seems to spike up further. "Oh," he says, the frown turning into a sneer. "It's the Malfoy boy."

Scorpius, unlike earlier, scowls. "It is," he says and he's trying to sound three years older than he is and Chrom can't help but feel bad because that never ever works. "Want to make something of it?"

James' sneer grows into a crooked grin. "Might," he says. "I thought you said you were making friends, not dooming yourself to Slytherin."

Albus gets to his feet, bony fists clenched. "Dad says it doesn't matter!"

"Dad was being nice." James waves his hand. "Come on Al, the cousins are looking for you."

Roxanne is rolling her eyes skyward and grabbing at James' arm, prepared to let him hear it.

Chrom moves between them. He's always been sturdier than Albus and James, comes from years of using weapons and running about getting into trouble. "I think it's none of your business." And his eyes are steel and street raged.

"Wasn't asking you," James said, using his extra centimeters to tower over him.

Chrom smiles and it's that smile that his family swears will be the death of him. "Wasn't giving a bloody hoot," he replies.

James' free hand goes to his pockets before anyone can say no and Chrom, like anyone with sense, ducks, and charges.

It's so worth it to see James clatter to the floor with that yelp of pain. He doesn't like that but he's so happy about it.

Unfortunately, he isn't fast enough to pin him, and now he has three wands pointed at his nose. Chrom would say something about playing fair, but considering he's a first year, this whole thing's not fair, to begin with.

"Is everything all right out here?"

Two doors down, a girl comes out, dressed in layers of silk, green ponytail swishing about over the strange circlet on her head, and she is so familiar and his brain can't remind him where-

And Robin is right behind her, Morgan on his hip and free hand over hers.

She seems to ignore him, standing tall and regal and examining them over Fred's shoulders. Then she spots Chrom. A small 'o' of surprise fills her face.

"Oh… cousin Chrom," she says and the o turns into a smile. "It's your first year too?"

Chrom blinks once, twice, then his eyes go wide.

" _Tiki?"_

And she laughs. "The one and only."

Okay, James Potter or not, this is going to be the best year _ever._


End file.
